The Immortal Instruments
by sociallyunacceptablerealities
Summary: Drabble collection, featuring all canon pairings, friendship, parabatai fun, etc. To be updated whenever inspiration strikes.
1. Immortality

The twilight slanted in through the curved windows of Magnus' penthouse, and Alec was a picture of beauty, dark against the fading sunset. Magnus looked at him, young and handsome and with years in front of him, years that would fade into the darkness of black, and once again he was struck with the thought: I cannot follow.

He will go, and I cannot follow.

Chairman Meow, sensing something, leaped onto the couch beside him. Alec turned to look at him, and those midnight blue eyes sparked with life.

Magnus shivered under Alec's touch, and all his thoughts dropped away, butterflies fleeing into the safety of the shadows.

 _How can I follow?_


	2. Secrecy

**Well, it appears that inspiration is striking quite a lot lately. Enjoy!**

Magnus knew many languages.

He could still recall the way words rolled off his tongue, the way some languages were soft and smooth like honey, how some were guttural but strangely raw, how some were delicate like falling snowflakes.

None resounded quite so strongly as the language that couldn't be spoken.

Oh, he tried. He tried to transmit it through touch and smell and taste, through sound and the feel of flesh against flesh, but even after years of experimenting, there was always a gap, a chasm that by the smallest of centimeters, he couldn't cross.

 _Love you._

A barest brush of fingertips.

 _How?_

Hands carding through hair.

 _It doesn't matter._

He raised his head to the sunlight, and imagined their souls twining together in a dance, invisible feet ghosting over the ground, flying without wings.

 **Tell me if it feels cheesy. Constructive criticism welcome.**


	3. Fear

**And…inspiration strikes again. Thanks to Athens1399 for being the first reviewer!**

The thing he feared most wasn't that one day Alec would die, Clary would die, Jace and Isabelle and Simon and all the people that had somehow come to mean something would pass away, but rather that he would wake up one morning and find that he could no longer love.

To find that although his body responded, his heart had turned to stone, and he would have to act, act to be still in love, act like he could still be made vulnerable by emotion.

Magnus theorized that it was the demon side taking over the human, the superior race slowly overriding the lesser. It was a frighteningly practical thing to think.

Well, he thought. At least once that happens, it won't hurt anymore to see the look on their faces because it can no longer hurt.

He curled onto his side and pulled the blankets higher.

 **Sorry if this wasn't that good- it was stuck in my head and I had to get it out in some way.**


	4. Change

Magnus sat on the sun warmed grass, watching ephemeral butterflies flutter across the sky, vibrantly orange against endless cobalt. It was a near perfect day, wisps of cloud slowly dissolving as they trailed across robin's egg blue to disappear into the horizon. Occasionally, a butterfly would swoop down, brush the tip of a flower, and then dart back up to join the others. He looked at Alec, who was sitting beside him, and then behind to glimpse their shadows stretching across the blades of grass. A cool wind traced his skin, and he saw Alec close his eyes.

He was so beautiful. A petty word, but nothing would quite be able to substitute it. He felt an invisible hand clenching around his heart, and tried to imagine it as a horde of butterflies descending upon him. The sun sliced down on them, streaking Alec's black hair with chatoyant auburn, and the butterflies circled tighter.

"They left," Alec murmured, and he blinked, looking up to see the real butterflies flitting away. He felt trapped in the moment. Now was suffocating him, and he could not have been more happy.

"They'll come back."

 **That's the drabble. Tell me what you think of the next one!**

 _Alicante, Englande, Annal 239_

Alexandere's heart fluttered. Quite truly, however, fluttered was, as his mother would say, 'a word unworthy of the current situation found at hand'. His heart bucked and kicked and snapped in its little iron birdcage. His captive's mouth lifted in a smirk.

"Surprised?" Oh, Raziele, he even spoke like one, words sinuous and smooth like the meander of a river, and even with the current situation, he was mesmerized. He dropped his captive, who rose gracefully to his feet, brushing street grime off his knees, and Alec found himself staring into the eyes of a cat. Alexandere swept his eyes over the Prince's face, and found him to be around the same age, all angled cheekbones and toffee skin. Alec took a really quite mortifying amount of time to collect himself.

"Beg your pardon, majesty, but what may you be doing on the-" he paused, thought, picked a word- "incorrect side of the fence?" Magnus Bane licked his lips, curled his mouth.

"Would you consider picking berries to be the appropriate reason, Prince Alexandere?"

"I'm afraid that's not quite possible," he said, voice regaining surety. Magnus Bane examined him, eyes lingering a second too long on the runes winding paths across his skin.

"And, I suppose you wouldn't wish to enlighten me as to the reason as why you, too are outside this fine day?" A cat like sweep of an arm punctuated his words, and Alec took in the jagged fence, with the imbedded shards of glass and wire and iron, behind him, the castle of glass, on the other side, the Netherlands. All masked with the thick shroud of night. Alec looked up at the moon, which matched up directly with the wall, creating a silvery light on their side, haloed with the slight traces of blue and rose, a direct juxtaposition to the other side, blood red and shrouded with mist. He had the sudden urge to ask Magnus Bane what it was like, standing on the fence, and being able to see the duality in its full glory.

"Is it a crime for the Crown Prince to take a little walk?" he asked, instead. The Prince smiled bitterly.

"I don't suppose it is," he said, and Alexandere could drown in that voice. That voice was pure evil, silk smooth and ocean deep, coupled with a silver tongue. That voice was so heavenly, he almost didn't hear the soft footsteps coming towards him. Almost. He twisted around, hand hovering above the hilt of his dagger, and had to blink. Twice.

"Caterine?" he asked. She was caught off guard by his presence, he could see- she probably hadn't expected to see him here.

"Caterine," the Prince from the other side greeted. Alexandere's jaw nearly dropped- a most heinous breach of etiquette, as it was- and he was decidedly confused. His eyes narrowed. Was Caterine a spy? That made no sense. A former friend of the Prince? But the Prince was...hard to be able to interact with, to say the least, due to rather restrictive rules that he also found himself subject to.

"Caterine," he asked the healer, "you know him?" Caterine caught sight of Magnus, who was standing behind Alexandere and smiling weakly, and the healer's face turned stony. She was wearing an expression of horror and- fear? The Prince's face was stark, and Alec had to wonder what their relationship was. In any case, it was probably just better to let this play out by itself- hope against all hope, Magnus Bane would leave before the guards found him and there was a major court issue. _Hopefully?_ The little voice inside his head sniggered. _Look at him._ _He's art, that one, and Thy Holy Majesty has always had a taste for fine art, no?_ Alec swallowed, but luckily the Prince was too invested in backing away from Caterine to notice.

Caterine marched over and grabbed the Prince by the collar of his jacket, and in the light, Alexandere could see that the fabric was most certainly of royal design, the embellishments on the collar made with looping gold thread, beautifully sewn, and the pattern suggested wings. It looked rather good with the midnight blue fabric of the rest of the jacket, he had to admit.

"You nimwit," she seethed, "by the Glories of Eden! Your father-" Alexandere could see her voice was strained, and he listened as the clipped, arrow like words of Alicante collapsed into something more…smooth. More like the language of the Netherlands.

"My father can wait," Magnus Bane cuts in. "I was just having a lovely talk with your Crown Prince here."

 **Tell me what you think! So, do you want this to be in little drabbles interspersed with the rest of the stuff or do you want it to be seperate? Thanks for reviewing, reading, etc.**


	5. Salvation

**By the Angel, it's been almost 3 months since I updated this! I hope you enjoy! Please review. It encourages me to get off my lazy butt and work faster!**

* * *

There was a saying that you could see yourself in your children.

What Robert Lightwood saw, when he looked at Alec, was what he might have had. Might possibly have been.

Alec, playing games with his son, kissing Magnus, so loving and so open. So unafraid.

He had told Alec before that he despised him, that he hated him. Every time, the words had burned his mouth.

The words were never directed at Alec. Not really. Not at the son who's eyes were so full of fear and uncertainty and pain.

They were directed at himself. That small, gaping hole in himself that craved...

Men.

Robert had not been brave enough to admit it. Not brave as Alec had been. As Alec was. He had thrown away his own chance at love.

 ** _"I'm in love with you."_**

His Parabatai, Michael Wayland, dearer to him then a brother, the only one who had stood by Robert all those years, had said.

And Robert had recoiled from him, stricken with fear, not of Michael, but of himself and what he also wanted.

 _"You'll never say that again. And if you insist on it, that will be the last thing you ever say to me. Do you understand me? And you will never speak of it to anyone else, either. I won't have people thinking that about us. About you."_

Michael had looked up at him, with stricken eyes and Robert had felt his heart break into a thousand irretrivable pieces.

"What will they think?" Michael had murmered.

 _ **"They'll think you're disgusting,"**_

Parabatai were not supposed to lie to each other.

Robert had lied to the very end.

It was too late.

He had been too afraid.

He still was too afraid.

Michael could have taken away the fear if Robert had let him. Stopped him from being so scared, led him to becoming a better man as Magnus did for Alec every single day.

Robert had tossed him away.

He deserved his broken heart.

And Michael was dead.

 _ **"I love you, Michael."**_


	6. Facade

**Taking place after the events of _City of Heavenly Fire_ and _Welcome to Shadowhunter Academy. ENJOY AND REVIEW!_**

* * *

Most people saw her as a warrior, a queen, someone who was never afraid.

Isabelle knew better. In her heart, she would always be the same scared little girl, who hid when she heard her mother and father shouting, late at night with her older brother standing between them , trying to stop the shouting and the fighting. Protecting her.

She had felt so weak.

She had vowed never to be weak again.

She learned to put on brightly coloured, scandelous clothing to conqure her insecurities and to show of the scars that flaked across her skin, the result of many years of shadowhunter training.

She had learned that her words could be just as deadly as her whip and protect her from the world.

She had learned how to flirt and how to date.

She had learned how to hide her feelings and tears under a careful wall.

 ** _Isabelle had never learned, how to protect her heart._**

Of course she had put up the usual fortresses, cutting off chances of love before the sprang into bloom.

But they hadn't been real loves, the people she had dated. They had all only wanted her, for her beauty and her charm. They had wanted the person she pretended to be. Her facade.

None of them had seen underneath. Not a single one.

Not untill Simon had come.

Simon had comforted her after Max had died. He had told her stories when she was afraid at night. He had risked going to Allicante just to see her. He had risked his life to save her in the Edom.

Simon had seen underneath her facade and still, he had loved her.

He had given up his memories for her.

And now he was back again. With no reccolection of her or who she was or what she had been to him. What he had been to her.

It hurt worse than death.

The only one who had seen underneath,

Was gone.


	7. Meaning

_**Don't kill me, but this takes place after all the TMI charachters are dead, except for Magnus. Please Review!**_

* * *

The child turned her shockingly blue eyes on him. Eyes that were pools of midnight water, laced with moonbeams and violets.

"Mom says Theresa Herondale is getting married soon. "

The child's hands played with the blocks scattered across the floor. "Did you ever get married, Magnus?"

Magnus bent to pick up the child, ruffling her dark, curling hair.

"No, Victoria, I was never married."

The words still hurt to say but they were true.

 **"Not untill we can both be married in gold."**

The memory surfaced in front of him, suspended in time.

 _Alec asking him, his huge blue eyes wide. Magnus taking his hands, and kissing his palms, asking him to wait._

 _"Married as equals."_

 _Alec promising to wait. Waiting and waiting._

"Oh."

Victoria Lightwood stared up at him, looking disapointed.

Magnus sighed.

"I did love someone, Vicky. A shadowhunter like you. Like your mother and father and your grandparents and your great grandparents."

Victoria stared up at him, interest burning in her eyes.

Magnus gave up the struggle.

"His name was Alec."

She frowned. Magnus could almost sense the thoughts wizzing through her head.

"Like the picture of great grand uncle Alexander Lightwood in the entrance of the Institute?"

Magnus flinched. Even a hundred years couldn't numb the kick of pain he felt every time he realised that Alec was gone. Alec, Clary, Jace, Isabelle, Simon, even Raphael, his little boy, his son.

"Yes, Vicky. Someone like that."

Magnus smoothed the child's hair, feeling her head nestle against his shoulder.

"Alec, he wasn't my first love and he wasn't my last. But he was the love that truly mattered, the one who saved me, the one who taught me what love was all about."


	8. Memory

The sun flickered in dappled rays, across the marble floor, sending rainbow beams dancing through the stained glass window.

The wine was bitter on Mayrse's tongue.

May Eighteenth. Her wedding day.

The armfulls of her wedding dress spilled over her lap, a shimmering fountain of gold, the golden veil catching fire in the sunlight and falling like a phoenix's tail.

It burned.

It burned in Mayrse's hands as she held the dress to the light. The fire seemed to pierce past her skin and worm it's way slowly, to her heart.

The dress of a bride who was no longer a bride. No longer a wife.

Mayrse Lightwood, only in name.

"I love you."

She had said it then and she had meant it and he had said it back to her.

She had thought he meant it as well.

He never had.


	9. Weakness

**Based of Cassandra Clare's tumblr post, stating that Clary refused Jace's proposal! Enjoy and REVEIW. Shoutout to** ArmyofLokiLucifer **for reviewing.**

* * *

"Will you marry me?"

A faint blush radiated off his high cheekbones, a feathery dusting of rose and charcoal. Rose, mingled with stigyian steel and sunbeams.

 _"I love you."_

The words echoed in her head.

 _"I love you. I love you more than all the world."_

Clary saw as he faltered, the hectic flush dying from his face.

"Clary?"

How could she tell him? How could she make him understand that she loved him, loved him so much that it was as if her heart would burst from loving him, loved him enough to die for him or even worse, live after he was gone?

How could she tell him, without breaking his heart?

 _ **"To love is to destroy"**_

He had said to her. And it had taken so long to teach him that it wasn't so. That to love was to be loved in return and to be happy.

Her golden boy, her angel who had given to her his heart.

"Jace..."

It had to be done.

Clary breathed.

 **"I... I can't"**


	10. Eternity

**Sorry this one's a bit longer than most. Tell me if you like this sort of thing. This is based of Cassandra Clare's _"A Long Conversation"_ Where we see Simon and Isabelle are engaged. Suggestions for new chapters are welcome! Again, like and REVIEW.**

* * *

Isabelle's dark hair fell around her shoulders, a fountain of inky black, blending in with the soft twilight shadows.

"Simon?"

He coughed and the pain in his chest intensified, a dark stain spreading through his t - shirt.

"I think I'm going to need an iratze."

The flash of Isabelle's whip glistened against her wrist, panic and fear written on her face.

"Simon, you idiot! I told you not to go after that demon!"

To be fair, the demon had snuck up behind him and proceeded to stab him with it's pincer before Simon had gone after it and plunged his seraph blade into it's chest which, had inevitably, led to him somehow falling off the Brooklyn Bridge, catching a rail, doing a stunning backflip which would have amazed even Jace, and thudding painfully on the base of one of the pillars before collapsing.

Thank the angel Isabelle had been with him.

Simon felt the numbing kick of the iratze, and watched as his flesh slowly began to knit itself together.

"Thank you."

Isabelle huffed. Simon noticed, for the first time, that her eyes were filled with tears.

"I saw you fall."

She gasped. Simon felt the shudder run up her back.

 **"Simon, I love you."**

He said nothing, only ran his hand though her hair, soft and long.

His Isabelle, the only one he would ever want.

 _I love you and I will love you till I die and possibly even longer than that._

He knew what he wanted to say. What had to be said. Right then. Under the Brooklyn Bridge, while covered in ichor and blood. The Lovelace family ring felt heavy on his hand.

He staggered to his feet, Isabelle giving a cry of protest. "Sit down Simon!"

His knee curved underneath him rather painfully, but it didn't matter.

"Isabelle Sophia Lightwood. Will you marry me?"

Isabelle's eyes widened, great big pools of darkness, mixed in with drops of pure sunlight.

"What?"

"I said...Will you..."

Isabelle's lips met his.

"Yes."

Simon leaned in, the taste of Isabelle's lip gloss, sweet on his lips.

 **"I love you."**

Isabelle smiled and a somewhere inside him, a supernova exploded.

 **"I know"**


	11. Dreams

AGAIN! ARGH! No new reviews! Please guys, I'm begging you, leave me a review! This one occurs sometime during COHF. I was inspired by the dream Clary has upon entering Edom. Note that the Italics means its part of the dream and the regular font means its reality.

* * *

 ** _Dream_**

 _The house was beautiful, painted white, the balcony stretching over the mahogany doors. Fairchild Manor. Beside him, a little girl in a white dress sat, digging her small fists into a wedding cake._

 _"Valentina, stop!"_

 _Somehow, he knew his eyes were green._

 _The little girl stopped, chocolate roses smeared all over her face, and looked at him, a look of shame spreading over her face._

 _He felt his chest rise and fall, sighing._

 _"I can fix it, Val. We'll hide it from Clary."_

 _He saw his hand, pulling the curling strands of red hair back from her face._

 _The girl smiled._

 _"I love you, Jonathan."_

 _The words felt right. More right than anything he had ever heard._

 **Reality**

Sebastian's eyes flickered open, the red, firey light of Edom flooding through the window.

Weakness. Dreams like these were weakness and weaknesses were deadly.

He stood, the silken sheets sliding from his torso, crumpling onto the marble floor.

 _"I will not be weak. I will be strong enough to take everything I want and more, and I want a great deal._

Outside the window, a burst of light exploded in the distance.

 _"I will have all the world, and I will rule it and my sister will rule beside me."_


	12. Falsehood

**This is set before _City of Bones_ , when Jocelyn and Valentine were still married. Please suggest who I should do next! I'm running out of charachters! Plz Review!**

* * *

It was bitterly ironic what love could do to you.

Love, true love, was meant to hold you up, make you stronger, better, keep you safe.

But false love, the belief that love existed when there was only passion, vice and lies hidden under a beautiful shell was deadly. False love was like a drug.

False love felt like bliss, untill you realized the angel sleeping beside you, was a demon.

It was what Jocelyn Fairchild had discovered, upon opening the attic door in her Manor house in Idris.

 _Vampire's with crusifixes around their necks, heads plunged into buckets of holy water with their skin, slowly peeling away. Werewolves with silver coins pressed to their eyes, howling as the coins smoked and burned. Faires with their wings torn away, held by iron chains._

Once you discovered the demon, you could never go back.

 _A brush of silvery white hair on her neck. The touch of soft lips, that still felt so inexplicably perfect._

False love was a prison.


	13. Obedience

**My weird obsession with Sebastian grows! Hope you enjoy this. Still a little sad that nobody read the chapter about Jocelyn (titled "falsehood"), so go check that out! Again, please review!**

* * *

The electrum whip slashed downwards, whistling through the air. The arcid tang of blood flooded the room, bitter and coppery. A thin stream of black sludge ran across the stone floor. Demon blood and golden ichor.

The boy didn't make a sound. His pale fingers strained against the steel chains, the force sending cracks spiraling up the stone wall. A strand of white blonde hair fell in his face, obscuring his eyes.

Valentine knelt to face the boy and pushed the hair out of the boy's face, revealing dark, empty eyes. A thin smile stretched itself over his face.

"Good, Jonathan. Very good. You are getting stronger. Soon you will be stronger than any Shadowhunter, any demon in existance."

The boy let out a soft gasp. Blood, trickling from his bloodless lips. Tears streaked his face.

Valentine sighed. With a smooth, fluid gesture, the lock clicked and the chains fell away.

"Wipe away those tears, Jonathan. Tears are a sign of weakness. You, my son, are to strong to be weak."

He stood, looking coldly at the boy, who remained kneeling on the ground.

"Remember the consequences of obedience, Jonathan. If you want to be the one to hold the whip, heed no one. Listen to no one. Look only for stregnth."

His footsteps echoed as he walked away.

"Yes, father."

Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern examined the slashes that ran across his back, feeling the ragged strips of skin. Blood stained his fingertips, stark against the whiteness of his hands.

"I will be the one to hold the whip."

In spite of both demons and angels,

The wounds still hurt.


	14. Protection

**Inspired by the scene in COHF where Alec says he chooses Magnus over the world. Its not very good but I just wanted to write it!**

* * *

He wasn't like Isabelle, openly beautiful, confident in her own skin. He wasn't like Jace, the epitome of a shadowhunter, down to the deepest depths of his being.

He hadn't even killed a single demon before he had turned eighteen.

Sometimes, Alec secretly wondered if he was cut out to be a shadowhunter. In the dark of the night, when everyone was asleep, and he lay there, staring into the gaping, empty darkness, he wondered.

Shadowhunters were meant to be the angel's chosen warriors. They were meant to be fearless. They were supposed to accept the choice their fellow warriors made, the selfless decision to sacrifice their lives for a greater cause.

He could never manage to do it.

He knew, if given the choice between winning and saving the ones he loved, he would always save them: his family, Isabelle, Jace.

Magnus.

He was selfish.

If he looked very, very deep into his heart, it wasn't the thought of them dying. It was the thought, the terrible fear that without them, there would truly be no one to love him. That he would have to live his life, surrounded by people who hated him for who and what he was.

His parents with their cold eyes, both wishing for a better son. The Clave with their even colder hearts.

"I am not fit to be a shadowhunter."

Shadowhunters were brave enough to accept the sacrifice of others.

Alec was a coward.

 _Love, over the salvation of all the world._


	15. Shadows

**Hi guys! Sorry it's been so long! This one is going to be about the Blackthorn children and is based on Lady Midnight.**

* * *

Ty's hands traced the wall, sending images dancing across the wall.

A line of birds soared across the pale wall flying further and further away till they dissolved into the hazy glow of the streetlights.

If he were to paint it, Julian thought, he would have to mix a million different colors together. Streaks of amber and pale yellow for the streaks of lamplight. Grey, white and black for the shadows of Ty's slender, graceful fingers.

"How do you do that Ty?"

Ty's eyes remained trained on the wall, shifting his hands into the image of castle turrets.

"I like birds. Emma showed me."

Her name spread a sharp, icy ache dancing through his chest.

Emma. Emma. Emma.

Ringing like a bell.

 ** _Pulvis et umbra sumus_**

 ** _Nothing but shadows._**

Loving quietly, silently, unwaveringly until they both caught fire and faded into the darkness.


	16. Alone

**Based on the ending of Clockwork Princess! Tell me if you like these sort of things!**

* * *

A cloud of smoke rose from the steamer as it set on it's return journey, spreading across the sky, adding to the heavy fog that lay all about New York.

 _The loneliest places in the world,_

Tessa mused to herself,

 _were crowds._

She paused, waiting for the throng of people jostling around her to past. No one stopped to speak to her, no one gave her a second glance. It was as if she was invisible.

A man, in passing, peered down at her through his glasses. Tessa could tell by the glance, that he saw only as what she seemed to be. A young girl of about eighteen or nineteen, lost in a big, noisy, dangerous city.

"Get on with it, miss. You'd better be getting home."

His accent was open and drawling, so different from the soft, lilting mix of Welsh and rounded English she was used to, that it seemed absured that this was the accent she had once accociated with "home."

The man walked away. He looked to be about forty.

 _If only you knew how old I truely am._

Out of habit, she turned to glance over her shoulder, searching for Will's sutble, reassuring smile.

For the second time that day, she was reminded that her Will was not there.

 _Her Will would never be there again._

Her trunk slid from her grasp, her fingers suddenly stared at the tops of the buildings, rising up in the gloom, so much taller than when she had left them, over sixty years ago.

Behind her, she felt a hand rest on her back.

"It gets easier, after a while."

She shook her head. "I know...I"

I can't promise you will forget, but you will smile again Tessa. And one day you won't feel so terribly alone." Magnus murmered.

The watery, afternoon sun was beginning to peer through the smoke. Tessa stared forwards, not turning to look at Magnus.

"That is what I am afraid of."


	17. Strange

Heyyy! Thanks to creativemercy for reviewing! I'm glad you like these short stories! This one is based off a snippet I found floating around tumblr, about James Herondale. I adapted it a bit to fix Max. In this one, Max is about twelve and Rafael is about fifteen.

* * *

Max Michael Lightwood Bane was the definition of unusual.

Firstly, he was blue. Max knew very few people who were blue.

Then there was the fact that he could do magic.

He'd even created a mental list for all the ways he was strange

1\. I am blue

2\. I am a warlock

3\. I have two fathers

4\. One of my fathers is a Shadowhunter and the other is a Warlock

5\. I have a Nephilim brother

6\. I have horns

7\. I like eating chips dipped in vanilla ice cream

It wasn't that he thought any less of himself or his family because they were so strange. Both his father and Magnus were possibly the best parents in the universe and maybe even beyone the extent of the universe, and it would have been physically impossible to live without Rafe.

But that didn't change the fact that when he walked through the streets of Allicante with his parents and his brother, people looked. They stared and they muttered to each other.

 _"Disgrace to nephilim"_

 _"They shouldn't be allowed here!"_

 _"Corruption."_

It didn't change the fact that his father's grip on his shoulder tightened or that Magnus would always look to his father, worry and anger blossoming in his eyes. It didn't change the fact that Rafe would always try to walk in front of him in public, as if to sheild him from the harsh words.

"Don't listen to them!" Rafe would always mutter. "Ellos son tontos"

 _They are fools._

He knew being strange didn't change who he was. Or what he chose to do.

But being strange meant that his brother would always feel like he had to protect him.

Being strange meant watching his father and Magnus collapse into each others arms at night, as if all the energy were sapped from their veins.

Being strange meant wanting to fix everything so badly it hurt, but not knowing what to fix.

Max knew would never change a single thing about his family. Not even Rafe's awful violin playing or Magnus's obsession with clothing or his father's terrible attempts at speaking Spanish.

He loved them for all those things.

But he hated them for it as well.

Sometimes, Max Michael Lightwood Bane wished that his family were not so strange.


End file.
